5. Pietro
Pietro
The villa looks like something out of a spy film—or a honeymoon catalog, depending on your angle. Hidden in the cliffs above Lake Valioro, it's remote enough for tactical privacy, and opulent enough to make any diplomat drop their guard.
Valaria storms through the grand foyer like she’s inspecting a crime scene. Her stiletto sandals click across polished marble with righteous fury, armored-up in a cherry-red sundress exposing a lot of sun-kissed skin. Slit to her thigh. A straw hat as big as an umbrella. Dark sunglasses. Straw bag.
Deadly.
She ignored me on the helipad—demanded separate choppers. Not a word. Not a glance. Not even a strategic insult.
It’s the silence that kills me.
“You’re sulking,” I say as I follow her into the grand sitting room.
She spins on me. Removes her oversized sunglasses. Her eyes burn into me. “I don’t sulk.”
“Brooding then.”
She doesn’t respond, which is confirmation enough. I lean against the doorway and take her in—the tight roll of her shoulders, the way she runs one hand up and down her arm like she’s trying to wipe me off her skin.
Hell of a thing, being hated this hard by someone who once—only once—looked at me like I might be worth touching.
Caldris’s voice echoes in my mind: If anyone asks, you’re lovers. Tense, on-again-off-again, but believable. Intimate.
The tension is real. The rest totally fabricated.
“Master suite’s through there,” I say, nodding at the adjoining double doors. “Yours, obviously, unless you want to share a bed.” She flips me off with a growl. “Fine, I’ll take the guest room.”
Valaria arches an eyebrow. “Trying to impress me with chivalry?”
“Trying to survive the week. I’ll rumple my side of the bed every morning–store my stuff in there–you know, to make it look real.”
“Now you’re pushing it.”
She brushes past me, her perfume hitting like a punch to the ribs. Vanilla, amber and something darker—musk. I breathe it in like a fool.
“The gala’s in seventy-two hours,” she says. “We need to rehearse tactics, and our backstory.”
“Fine. Let’s start with something easy. Where did we meet?”
She pauses. “You were lurking behind a column, pretending not to stare at my cleavage.”
“Authenticity. Good,” I say. “And our first kiss?”
Valaria’s glance levels me. “I had a concussion. I mistook you for someone else.”
I laugh. I shouldn’t. It eggs her on.
“You’re enjoying this,” she snaps.
“Only the parts where you get flustered.”
Her nostrils flare. “You think I’m flustered?”
I push off the wall and close the space between us. One step. Then another. Close enough to count the flecks of gold in her furious eyes.
“I think you’re about ten seconds away from doing something reckless,” I say.
She doesn’t blink. “So are you.”
I hold her gaze. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.
Then I step back, because if I don’t, I’ll forget this is a mission. I’ll forget everything that matters except the sound she makes when she’s angry—and the way I want to silence it with my mouth.
“This isn’t a game,” she says quietly.
“No,” I agree. “But we still have to play our parts.”
I head for the guest room before I do something stupid.
Like tell her the truth.
Not while the mission hangs by a thread.
But the truth haunts me.
It’s not the only secret I’m keeping. If either one comes to light, it won’t just ruin us, it could get her killed.
I’ll play my part to keep her safe.
But the part I’m most afraid of playing?—
Is the man who must let her go when this is all over.